Heart and Soul: Memorable schooldays at Main Convent Ipoh

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Main Convent, also known then as CHIJ (Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus) on Brewster Road (now Jalan Sultan Idris Shah), Ipoh, was a prestigious school. Studying at a convent entitled you to a somewhat elite education, something akin to that of international schools or the smart schools of today.

The day began at 7 every morning, with the shrill ringing of the school bell piercing the cold morning air amid sounds of scuttering feet gathering to assemble in the open grounds. Then, we would walk in files, taking turns to join the brisk walk to the adjoining classrooms. Latecomers would be “held back”, for a warning for first-time offenders or for more serious punishment for the “hard core”.

The primary school was then adjacent to the secondary block. The school hall was in the primary section, but had a flight of steps and a corridor that led to the secondary school. The hall was used by both primary and secondary.

Glimpses of events for the seniors were enough to awe and inspire the primary students to aspire to walk into the same hall as seniors some day in their future.

Music lessons for the primary school were held in the hall. I enjoyed these sessions as most of us did; they formed a welcome break in the routine curriculum. A cacophony of young voices could be heard going into waves of soothing sopranos. That was indeed the skill of the music teacher. No music notes to memorise or write; we just wrote the lyrics of the songs in an exercise book which we took to the music class with us. No censure, for we sang en bloc. After the lesson, we would walk back to our classroom with minds and souls refreshed.

When we walked past the hall as seniors, familiar strains would reach us, and we would recall the songs we had sung as juniors with so much gusto – such as Beautiful Brown Eyes, Pearly Shells, and My Grandfather’s Clock. Those familiar tunes reverberated in our minds and tugged at our heartstrings.

Our senior principal Sister Saint Fidelma and some of our teachers were nuns.

I remember Sister Saint Lawrence. She taught us in Standard Three. She was tall and looked Indian, and wore a white habit like the other, European nuns. When you happened to be one of the first three students in class for the mid-term or final tests, she would hand out rewards which we called “holy pictures’’ – of saints or Mother Mary or Saint Joseph. We treasured them as they were given to us with so much of love.

Secondary schooldays were different. There were no more music lessons; we had home science and art and a host of other clubs and associations as extra-curricular activities, especially in upper secondary.

There were swimming lessons fortnightly. We would walk in pairs, taking a path across Brewster Road, past the church in front of the school. We would come to Chung Thye Phin Road and to Ave Marie Convent which housed the swimming pool. These were outings for us and we enjoyed those lessons and practice sessions.

I remember my art teacher, Mrs Lim. I liked drawing and painting. Mrs Lim would often praise my work, and put them up on the notice board at the back of the classroom to serve as an exhibit.

We were also taught how to cook. Cookery lessons were fun. We got to taste and take home the dishes we had cooked for that day. I remember making fascinating dishes like Victoria Sandwich, a soft spongy cake that became a sandwich, and many more.

Needlework lessons, which I detested, alternated with cookery lessons. In Form Three, we each had to sew a blouse for the exam. I remember my needlework teacher holding my blouse for perusal before passing it. One look at it, and she burst out laughing. Horror of horrors, I had combined two collar types into one! The class was in complete silence. She laughed and laughed as I sat cringing behind the desk, wondering how I could set right whatever I had done. “Unpick,’’ she bellowed, and I was relieved that I could save it. It was duly passed as an examination piece.

English language lessons were my favourite. Our teacher, Miss Cynthia Thomas, made our English lessons something to look forward to. We had lots of oral work, drills in the nuances of grammar, comprehension – both written and oral – and essay-writing. I loved to write, especially imaginative type stories, narratives and descriptives. I would wait anxiously for the books to be returned, eager to read the encouraging comments that were often written below.

Miss Thomas was also our physical education teacher. When I was in Form Two, there was a grand music festival and international folk dance concert held in the school hall at the end of the year. Miss Thomas taught us the Maypole dance – a British dance that heralds the coming of spring – which we performed during the concert, a colourful extravaganza of folk dances from all over the world. As we participated, we also watched with fascination the other dancers’ performances. The Spanish Dance saw the girls swishing their skirts to the beats of their tuxedoed partners. There were dances from Portugal, Russia and Holland.

Another of my teachers, Mrs Selvamany (now Datin Seri Selvamany), made literature come alive. Her line-by-line explanation of Shakespeare’s text The Merchant Of Venice brought Shakespeare’s courthouse into our classrooms. She also taught us English and Mathematics in Form Four.

Then there was our prefects’ mistress, Miss Hew. She had a stern, no-nonsense look about her. A noisy, boisterous class would be lulled into pin-drop silence at the mere mention of her name or at the sound of her approaching footsteps. As the discipline teacher, she was the flagship of the school. She seldom smiled but, as prefects, we had the rare opportunity of seeing her in a congenial mood during our meetings with her.

Then, I cannot forget my form teacher, Miss Wong, who tutored us and sent us out into the world armed with testimonials and our school-leaving cerificates. I cannot forget her patience, love and dedication. I remember her with fondness.

Although I am now in the autumn of life, I think of all my teachers with love and gratitude. I remember too my parents who made sure we had a good start in life. Their selfless and enduring love for us is forever etched in my heart.